


Just Another Kind of Fight

by ahuehuehueee



Series: To Be Human [1]
Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Canon Divergence, Competition, Crack Taken Seriously, Cussing, Domestic, M/M, Nothing Really Happens Here, OOC as hell, Seke, Vignettes, Violence, horrible plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-02
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-04-22 21:59:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4851995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ahuehuehueee/pseuds/ahuehuehueee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was just another fight with a different set of rules; in fact, aside from death, it was the only battlefield that could ever determine a winner between Izaya and Shizuo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The End of the Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> OOCness ensues. And I mean it, seriously. Horrible OOCness ensues. Unbeta'd. Expect hideously formed sentences. So yeah, be warned.
> 
> I pledge allegiance to crack and sleep-deprived terrible 4 AM decisions.  
> The general disclaimer I put on my profile applies to this story. :D

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shizuo had muddled memories of playing the game for years.

Shizuo snapped his phone shut. He was seething with rage as he glared at his phone, mentally scorning it for being the messenger of the devil. He would not cave in this time. The game had been going on for far too long now. Nine years was already too long for this kind of shit, and Shizuo could not even start to comprehend _why_ it had even lasted that long.

Maybe it was because back then, the battles weren’t that frequent. The first three times they played the game occurred over the span of two years. He would have forgotten all about the game in between their gaps, but of course Izaya never let him. He didn’t know when the time between their matches started to become so short; until recently, he didn’t even notice that the interval was already _that_ short: what used to happen sparingly now occurred more than occasionally. He shoved his phone back into his pocket with as much force as he could while making sure it wouldn’t break.

He started walking back to his apartment slowly while he tried to calm himself down. He closed his eyes and tried to think of calming thoughts; he breathed in deeply as thoughts of pudding, Kasuka, and strawberries flooded his mind. But all it took was a momentary flash of a smug grin to cloud his mind and break his concentration.

Suddenly, his feet went the opposite direction, and were trudging instead of walking, and stomping instead of trudging, and full out running instead of stomping. Izaya’s name left his lips in a roar before he was aware his mouth moved at all, and his mouth was at once as bitter as the stench of the damn flea. His instincts took over all his senses as he imagined that annoying grin of success spread across Izaya’s face, his arms folded over his chest, his body leaning lazily on a wall as he realized Shizuo lost and that he won. The thought sent Shizuo’s temper through the roof, and he picked up his pace just so the flea wouldn’t think he won the game.

*.*

 

The whole _thing_ started back when they were in 3rd year high school. It began with the slide of Izaya’s tongue on his neck during a familiar fight sequence gone terribly wrong. They had been in death lock, and it was the first time he caught the damn pest. Admittedly, they were in a rather compromising position; Shizuo was gripping Izaya’s arms in an effort to make him drop his goddamn knife. By doing so, he was holding the little fucker close to him. He felt him edge a little closer to him, but Shizuo was too heady with his impending win to give a shit. And before he could comprehend the situation, his neck was suddenly wet with saliva, left there by a tongue he could _feel_ was too full of it. Izaya’s breath puffed on his wet skin and he felt _something_ blitz through his body like an idiot in the front lines charging before the commander gave the go signal.

His brain took a while to recover from the shock, and before it did, he felt everything as if he were an outsider from his own body. He saw his grip on Izaya slacken, and the fledgling informant took the opportunity and wriggled his body away. Shizuo saw his hand touch his offended neckline, just as he saw his mouth gape in surprise. Izaya’s horrid cackle came from what seemed like a distance away, even if the bastard was just a few inches too close from his face. When he snapped back into lucidity, he felt the familiar anger surge inside him, and for once he welcomed it like an old friend. His rage mixed with surprise and something he would rather not name, and suddenly his hand was curled into a fist, drawn back, ready to swing─

─at nothing, since Izaya had already anticipated his move; he swiftly and calmly took a small step back. When Shizuo finally released his punch, it was too late to change its trajectory. Izaya’s face was grazed only by the wind, managing to make his black hair flutter violently in retaliation, framing his annoying face with his equally irritating smirk plastered on it. Shizuo was ready to have a go at punching him again at the infuriating sight of that too overconfident smile, and raised his other fist. Izaya just cut him off with words that were quicker than any of his punches would ever be.

“Want to play a game, Shizu-chan?” Izaya asked, voice dripping with diabetes-inducing sweetness and suggestion that even Shizuo’s sweet tooth wouldn’t be able to handle them.

 “No fucking way,” he yelled out. He wanted to get away from Izaya as soon as possible, away from that malicious lopsided grin that made him want to tear his hair out in frustration and stomp the face of its owner. Before he could turn away, he felt a pressure on his crotch.

Izaya’s foot was pressing on his half-hard member.

“What the actual fuck?” he roared as he found himself still with shock for the second time in a span of a few minutes. However, Shizuo’s uproar only egged Izaya on as he leaned in closer, stepped on the front of Shizuo’s pants harder, and simultaneously plunged a knife into the other high school boy's left shoulder. The knife ultimately just bounced off because of how shallow the cut made was. Fury now hazed his vision, and before he could catch the goddamn flea’s hands, Izaya had already jumped and ran. Before he ran away, he spat out some saliva from in what appeared to Shizuo as leftover disgust from when he licked his neck. And if Shizuo were being honest at that time, he had never felt simultaneously so turned on, insulted, and fucking violated in his entire life.

He caught Izaya the second time that day, when the sun had long set and a dull black covered the sky. He knew then that the flea meant for him to catch him, and at that point he was already tired and annoyed and angry and all sorts of things that he pretended to humor the little shit. He was also half-curious as to what Izaya was up to when he licked his neck but spat out afterwards. Izaya explained how logical playing the game was to him with fucking pretentious words he didn’t catch and some others like _pent-up sexual frustration_ and _misattribution_ and something about a bridge (what the fuck did a bridge do with the shit Izaya did?). The game was simple, and even _logical_ , at least to Izaya’s fucked up head. The more information he spouted out, the more Shizuo’s head ached because of the anger he had to suppress just so he could pretend to listen. Needless to say, before he was even finished explaining, Shizuo already had a fist poised for another punch.

Izaya shook his head, as if berating a child for not understanding such a simple concept. He shrugged and lazily smirked. “Is Shizu-chan afraid of playing a little game?” he asked slyly, the taunt of his voice plain by the lilt of his tone. He felt his anger rise at the sight; he gritted his teeth in frustration and willed himself to not be manipulated into playing the game. The feat was extremely difficult to do, especially with that stupid smirk right in front of him.

Shizuo did end up agreeing to at least listen to the rules of the stupid game.

 

 

*.*

He furiously blinked his eyes open to wake himself up. Shizuo rubbed his eyes awake for good measure to take a good look at whatever it was that pestered him from his sleep. Not that he minded being woken up. He was dreaming about how _this_ weird shit came to be, and he really didn’t want to be reminded of anything about that time.

When his bleary vision came into focus, he saw a stark naked Izaya jumping up and down on his kneecaps. Izaya’s arms were bent on his sides due to the effort he put in making sure that the bulk of his weight landed solely on its target. His callused feet kept on creating friction on Shizuo’s knee every time they landed. The bad thing was it was starting to annoy him. Worse, a buck-naked Izaya meant that his hair wasn’t the only thing flopping around _everywhere_ with his every jump.

The worst thing about the whole situation was how indifferent Shizuo was to everything about it, like he was actually _used to it_.

 “’The hell ‘you doing?” he managed to ask, despite not really caring about what the hell Izaya was up to. He had been woken up from his sleep before in worse ways than a jumping flea. Izaya cackled with his signature grating laughter, and Shizuo had experienced that way too many times to count by then. He just covered his ears with his hands.

“I wanted to see if I could break your legs, Shizu-chan,” Izaya sang out while still jumping. Shizuo was thankful he stopped laughing though, because he did not want to welcome the morning with the flea’s annoying laugh.

“’You aiming to flash all of Dogenzaka or something?” Shizuo grunted. “The windows are wide open.”

“Nope, I’m just out to harass you.”

He reached out for the pillow beside his head and aimed it right at Izaya’s chest, which he dodged. The pillow hit the wall behind him instead, and ended up making a mini-crater on the wall and burst into a million feathers. Paying for a crater on the wall was better than paying money to fill out a hole, and Izaya, being the cheapskate bastard that he is, would never let him hear the end of it unless he paid up.

Shizuo stretched out his legs, glad that the pest was off of his knees.  He slid his hand under the bed to reach for Izaya’s boxers. Shizuo placed them there when he took them off of Izaya last night, because he half-expected the little shit to do something annoying in the morning.

“Wear this,” he said as threw the boxers at Izaya. Again, it missed its target completely, but this time it did crack a hole in the wall between Izaya’s bedroom and hallway.

“Fuck,” he groaned and covered his eyes out of frustration because of his blunder. It was the second hole he made in the span of three months, and he didn’t need to look up to know Izaya was maniacally grinning at him and mentally computing the cost of the damage he made.

*.*

 

 

Shizuo agreed to follow Izaya in the dead of the night to the flea’s apartment; he said he was going to listen to the rules of the stupid game. He’d rather not think about how the stupid shit managed to rent an apartment even though he was only in high school, and he didn’t want to know. They were in one room without trying to kill each other, but that didn’t mean they were going to be in close proximity. Izaya was on one end of the room, while he was on the other. Once he was willing enough to actually listen, Izaya went ahead and explained the rules. The game was sex.

Shizuo looked at Izaya as if he had lost his mind.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Izaya said. “Don’t tell me you don’t get turned on whenever we fight.”

“No, I don’t, you freak―”

“But you did, a while ago,” Izaya half-sang, and Shizuo started losing his patience. Before Shizuo could act on his steadily increasing irritation, Izaya continued.

“I’m not insinuating something disgusting as you having feelings for me. I’m just saying it’s a natural reaction to a stimulus ─ never mind, you probably won’t understand it if I explained it that way, right?”

Shizuo threw Izaya’s side table. The flea jumped out of the way, and the table crashed into the wall behind him. “There goes my bedroom wall,” he sighed.

“Explain properly, or I’ll just beat the shit out of you.”

“I’m saying that the circuits in our head get confused, and what you properly feel as rage laced with the ever present adrenaline in your body somehow becomes arousal. You get me?”

Shizuo grunted in reply while looking for another object to throw.

“And then there's the fact that no one actually ever wins in our fights. It gets annoying after a while, doesn’t it, Shizu-chan? Frustrating, even. So that’s why I suggested this game. The loser is the one who comes first, of course. That way, neither of us will be able to deny who won. And then the winner could make the loser do whatever he wants.”

“You’re fucked up, Izaya-kun.”

“Ah, but it wouldn’t be fun if it’s a onetime thing, wouldn’t it? Let’s make it as the one who first explicitly says he doesn’t want to _ever_ play the game anymore loses. Saying you don’t want it but still playing the game won’t count as forfeiting. I have a feeling you’re the type who says one thing but does the other.”

“And _I_ have a feeling that you’re crazy,” Shizuo concluded, their current situation the only evidence he needed.

Izaya continued on as if he didn’t hear him. “And whoever suggests they play the game, bottoms.”

And then there was that rule that Izaya had just said―

“No _fucking_ way will I bottom,” Shizuo angrily huffed. He _really_ didn’t think this would work when they were disgusted to even be with each other in the same room.

 “Whatever you say, Shizu-chan. Are you going to play the game or not?”

“You need help. I’m leaving,” Shizuo said as he turned away for the door.

“You’ll see,” Izaya argued, as he crossed half the room in the blink of an eye. All of the sudden, he was beside Shizuo. He leaned in closer, and at once he could smell his scent, the horrible yet intoxicating scent that always lingered in his nose long after the flea had gone. It was frustrating to say the least, and to be this near made his head spin. Half of him wanted to puke, while the other part of him wanted to inhale all of the smell even if all his other instincts were against it. Izaya inched in a little close, and Shizuo could feel him breathe against his ear; he felt the muscles of his body involuntarily clench in equal parts apprehension and anticipation. “You will come on to me eventually,” Izaya purred, and suddenly, he felt himself shove Izaya away, and the other boy skidded quite a distance on the floor before he regained his balance and hoisted himself up.

Izaya smirked, wagged his finger, and shook his head. “That wouldn’t do, Shizu-chan. I said we would play, not kill each other.”

Shizuo snarled and walked agitatedly towards Izaya. Once he was close enough, he pushed the other to the wall and collared him. He glared at the other’s eyes, searching for some reason why the hell the stupid shit was doing this. “I can kill you right now, and you know that. Why aren’t you running?” he questioned, and he couldn’t help but let tiredness seep into his voice. Dealing with Izaya always left him exhausted. Izaya always went around in circles, and Shizuo was always forced to follow his pace.

“Haven’t I explained it clearly enough awhile ago?” Izaya answered while rolling his eyes, complete with that maddeningly cocky grin. It made him want to do the exact opposite of what Izaya thought he would do, because seeing that stupid smile always made him see red-

Shizuo stormed out of the room before he did something stupid, and from the distance, he could hear Izaya’s frenzied laughter.

 

 

*.*

The mornings after were an unwritten truce they decided on somewhere between their 6th and 7th year of playing the game. He couldn’t remember exactly when they decided on the rule. Shizuo’s sense of time always got blurred into incoherence and insignificance whenever Izaya was involved. It didn’t matter if they were running, or fighting, or fucking. In each and every one of those moments, he just felt stuck and lost at that moment in time; everything became a haze.

Shizuo shook his head to further wake up his uncooperative brain. He found his thoughts drifting more often those days, and he didn’t like it, not even a bit. He opened the refrigerator door of Izaya’s apartment and searched for something to eat before he left, partly because he was hungry, and partly because - and he found sweet spreads and bread in the refrigerator; briefly entertained the thought of the implications ─

He cut off his thoughts as he reached Izaya’s dining room. Izaya was wearing boxers now, and for which he was glad. He was talking to a client over the phone when Shizuo seated himself opposite of him at his dining room table. He set the plate of toast and different plastic spread containers he was holding on the table. He was determined to focus on eating and only eating. He debated whether to eat strawberry jam first or try the chocolate spread at the very back of Izaya’s refrigerator. The strawberry jam was tempting; he had tasted it a couple of times before, ever since Shizuo first laid eyes on it a few months ago after one of their games. The chocolate one was new though, so he decided he would taste it last.

Shizuo twisted the bottle cap as gently as he could; he didn’t want to break the container. It didn’t budge. Before he could try again, he saw Izaya mouth “give it to me” while opening his palm as a gesture for him to hand the bottle over. Shizuo snorted but handed over the bottle to him. He opened the bottle and handed it back to him.

He spread a generous amount of strawberry jam on his toast, and chewed on it slowly. Shizuo watched as Izaya took a sip of coffee while he listened intently to the person on the other end of the line. His brows were furrowed in his concentration; when he set down his mug, his mouth was drawn into a thin line. Shizuo stared at him quietly for a while, and wondered what the person on the other end was saying for Izaya to wear such an expression.

He mulled it over as he absentmindedly tried to pry open the bottle of chocolate spread. He unconsciously touched the pale crescent scar on his left shoulder which Izaya’s bite mark last night and Shizuo’s thoughts turned to their tryst. Shizuo was the one who ultimately suggested that they fuck last night when he went to Izaya’s apartment in Shibuya. It was funny, how they always agreed on who really suggested that they fuck regardless of the layers of spiteful suggestions each other used on the other. Shizuo didn’t doubt that if someone ever read Izaya and his text conversations, the person would be confused. He remembered Izaya moving in him, his hair matted and his breath as he panted. He became in too deep in his thoughts about last night’s game that his control at turning the bottle lid and gripping the actual bottle slipped.

Chocolate flew into the air and spilled all over Izaya just as he ended his call.

Izaya glowered at him as Shizuo doubled over in laughter. Izaya abruptly stood up as a large dollop of chocolate slid down his face. He went to the bathroom in a huff, and Shizuo was only slightly sad he couldn’t get at least some chocolate off of Izaya’s body, since he really wanted to know what it tasted like.

He was scraping out the remaining chocolate from the now horribly deformed bottle when he was doused with a bucketful of water. The bucket that Izaya forcefully threw afterwards slapped his face with a huge _smack_ that the growled “Izaya!” left his mouth like a reflex.

“There’s another bottle of chocolate spread in the cupboard, you brute,” Izaya said as he cackled and crossed his now empty hands over his stomach in an effort to hold in his laughter. “Try not to crumple the bottle this time, ‘kay?”

*.*

 

 

As much as Shizuo didn’t want to admit it, there was some truth in Izaya’s words that night when he proposed the stupid game. The game felt like a natural next-level step to their fights. That was what it was: a fight. The game was the only time a clear cut winner could be declared out of all the skirmishes they had in the past. Bodies can’t lie, after all, and he doubted even someone as much of a bastard as Izaya was could control his dick.

It was simple as it was purely off-putting. It was more off-putting than tempting, and of this, Shizuo was sure.

So why then was he outside of Izaya’s apartment after class?

He was debating internally whether to knock on or break down the door. He didn’t even know if Izaya was home or not, but Shizuo went anyway without thinking. He didn’t know why he went, he kept repeating in his head. The only thing he knew was that he became too aware of Izaya ever since that conversation, and suddenly his feet took him to Shibuya and right into the den of evil.

Before he could do either, the door swung and Izaya’s face popped into view.

“Six months. I thought you’d last longer.”

Shizuo’s only response was to shove Izaya to the side and barge into his apartment. A scowl remained etched on his face even if there was internal turmoil in his head. He didn’t know what exactly possessed him to say, “So how do we do it?”

“Beats me, Shizu-chan. You’re the beast between the two of us. What does your instinct tell you?” Izaya mocked as he closed the door, and Shizuo wanted to do nothing more at that moment than to smash that annoying smirk into the wall. But when Izaya started fumbling at Shizuo’s zipper, he froze, not sure what to do at the situation.

Shizuo gulped down his uneasiness. The whole thing just seemed wrong, and a part of him was so repulsed at what was happening that he wanted to get as far away from Izaya as he could. Izaya’s face still had that irritating smug grin on it, but Shizuo could see it falter sometimes, and he doubted Izaya was aware it was happening. Disgust sometimes crawled into Izaya’s face, and his ever present smirk would freeze unnaturally.

He felt comforted at the thought. At the very least, he was assured that the game came from Izaya’s morbid curiosity above all else, and he reveled in the fact that he could make Izaya squirm. When Izaya finally managed to wrangle out his limp member from Shizuo’s boxers, they had made it to the couch.

Izaya pulled on it roughly, with as much finesse a bear affords its meal, and Shizuo jolted back involuntarily, annoyed that the bastard didn’t even hesitate to start so abruptly. He wrenched out Izaya’s member without opening his zipper in retaliation, managing to wiggle his hand through the waistbands of his pants and boxers.

“Don’t you even know how to open a zipper?” Izaya gritted out through clenched teeth as Shizuo grasped his member harshly, the confines of his jeans becoming too much for his member and Shizuo’s hand. Izaya unbuttoned and opened his own jeans clumsily, and Shizuo was satisfied with his petty revenge.

They both kneeled on Izaya’s couch, hands on each other’s dicks, and eyes glaring at each other levelly. Shizuo was using a reasonable amount of strength in his hold, and he was a little surprised Izaya wasn’t even flinching even when he did exert more pressure. Shizuo is vaguely aware that it was probably because Izaya didn’t want to lose this wretched game, but Shizuo would be damned before he lost too.

“You really are such a beast, Shizu-chan,” Izaya breathed out hoarsely, as he continued to stroke Shizuo’s member while looking at it with revulsion and childlike-awe; even if his face remained the same, those two emotions were clear in his eyes. But even in an act like that, Shizuo was annoyed Izaya just wouldn’t shut up, so he decided to thumb the head of Izaya’s dick as roughly as he could. Izaya lurched forward in response and rested his forehead on Shizuo’s shoulder.

“You’re just jealous,” Shizuo wheezed out, as Izaya counterattacked by rubbing Shizuo’s sensitive glans. Shizuo shudders involuntarily, and he cursed himself for reacting even though it was already too late for those kinds of sensibilities.

And Shizuo knew that both of them were sensitive at that moment, their members not used to the sensation of another boy’s callused hands palming them, and it was only a matter of time before one of them finished.

Izaya raised his head, and glared at Shizuo. His face was scrunched up in concentration, even as he fought hard to keep his smirk in place. And Shizuo didn’t know what happened at that moment; he didn’t know if it was because of Izaya’s taunting or his serious face, or if it was just Shizuo losing his mind and not thinking things through. Whatever it was, he knew the deal was sealed the moment he entered the room, and it was then that he understood that the game would never end, not until one of them was completely and utterly destroyed.

Those were his final thoughts as he came hard in Izaya’s hands and his cum flew everywhere, landing on Izaya’s hair and dribbling down to his face. Izaya momentarily looked at him with guileless surprise as he touched some cum from his face. He quickly recovered, and started laughing maniacally at Shizuo, while breathing out a “you came so fast!” in between gulps of air.

Shizuo used the table runner on Izaya’s side table to wipe away his cum from his dick; Izaya protested something about how uncivilized he was for not just using tissue. He pulled up his boxers and refastened the button of his slacks and threw the runner at Izaya’s face as he stomped to the doorway. He slammed the door hard enough for it to come off its hinges as he left.

 

 

*.*

Izaya had not contacted him for months, and Shizuo was at a loss at what to do.

Not that he did not relish the peace that days without the flea brought him. It was just unusual that Izaya wasn’t sending him annoying texts. The texts were never explicit but laced with overwhelming suggestion and double entendres. They had been exchanging those for a few years by then; he vaguely recalled the passive-aggressive exchanges charged with promises of death that came before them. He never welcomed either kind of texts, but their sudden prolonged absence left Shizuo feeling antsy more than anything.

More than that, he vaguely noted how skittish Izaya was the last few months. Shizuo remembered how Izaya was almost always avoiding him like the plague, and he was starting to get annoyed. Izaya had done this before; had left without a word and came back without a word. He was being caught up in Izaya’s pace again and he knew it. He ran through what the little bastard was up to in his head as he covered his face with his palm and massaged his temples.

[Having a rough day?], Celty asked as she brought her PDA near his face.

Shizuo grunted in reply, not really wanting to elaborate at what was eating him. Celty seemed to understand and kept to herself. He would rather not tell Celty about the game. The game was just a battle, and the populace already saw them fight outside so often, so why did they need to inform them of another kind of fight? People would misunderstand anyway, and interpret their actions wrongly. It was just another kind of fight with three explicitly stated rules and more or less a dozen unwritten clauses, subtexts and truces.

[Izaya hasn’t been around for a while now, has he?], Celty typed, eager to change the subject.

He snorted and answered, “Yeah, maybe he finally understood what staying out of Ikebukuro meant.”

[Some people say he’s out of the country. Russia.]

“Probably some sort of shady deal again or something,” Shizuo answered. “Why are we talking about that bastard anyway?”

[Nothing really, it’s just things feel different. Do you get what I mean? The gangs are still as violent as ever, and yet it feels different. Like, back then, we had someone to blame, and somehow that made things better than now.]

Shizuo kept quiet for a minute before he replied, “You’re over thinking things. He’s probably out there thinking of shit to do when he gets back. It’s always better when he’s not around.”

[… Yeah, you’re probably right.]

He took a long drag of cigarette smoke while contemplating what Celty said. There was a part of him that agreed with that statement, and he did his best to quash out the renegade part of himself. He was sure it was the same part of him that was starting to get used to waking up in Izaya’s apartment in Shibuya, and he was horrified that such a part even existed.

When the cigarette left his lips, he let out a puff of smoke. He stared at the wisps fading into the blue. He closed his eyes and the image infuriating lips that were perpetually curved in a smirk briefly fluttered in his mind. He imagined leaning in, hovering close, and ―

His eyes snapped open and he stomped on the remains of his cigarette, willing the thought away.

*.*

 

 

“Why is your damn apartment so far away anyway?” Shizuo asked one time during the beginning of their 4th year, and their 6th game overall. Back then, Shizuo could count the number of times they did the stupid game, since it happened so scarcely. 

“I think that’s the point, Shizu-chan,” Izaya answered while looking outside his window. The scramble crossing near Shibuya station was visible from his high-rise apartment, and he looked at people below pensively. 

"Still closer to Shinjuku than Ikebukuro."

"I enjoy making you suffer, of course," Izaya answered, mischievousness evident in his eyes. Shizuo turned his head away, lit and took a drag of his cigarette instead, and Izaya wrinkled his nose in disgust.

“You know that I hate cigarettes.”

“What, quitting the game just because of a little smoke?”

“You’re going to die young, which is a good thing, so keep on doing that,” Izaya scoffed as he went to his bedroom. Shizuo stood rooted in his spot. “Well? Are you going to come in or not? Don’t tell me you’re giving up just because I’m inviting you to my room.”

Shizuo scoffed as he followed Izaya and squashed his cigarette on an ashtray. “Hell no.”

“Too bad. I thought I would finally be able to make Shizu-chan do what I want.”

“Keep on dreaming, flea.”

They did the usual things they did whenever they play the game. They removed their slacks and boxers; started stroking each other while standing up, just like the times before that time. But Izaya did something else this time. After a few minutes of pumping each other, Izaya shoved Shizuo to the bed. Shizuo stumbled into the mattress back first in surprise, and Izaya took his unguarded moment and quickly pinned down his legs as he spread them apart.

Izaya then went inside Shizuo dry.

“You little fucker!” Shizuo roared. Izaya was inching inside him little by little. In a fit of momentary rage, he gripped Izaya’s arm tightly, and he felt Izaya’s sharp intake of breath in response. He loosened his grip involuntarily not wanting to hurt anyone even if it was the flea. It was a little too late however. A hand print was visible on Izaya’s arm and was starting to form a bruise on his pale skin. Shizuo remotely wondered whether he broke it or not even amidst his growing anger.

“I’m just playing by the rules,” Izaya answered as he lowered his head on Shizuo’s chest. “You called me this time.” Shizuo could feel him tremble a little as he felt his own muscles slowly loosen to make way for the intruder. “You’re so tight─”

“Bast─” Shizuo started, but was cut off by a gasp caused by the brief wave of pleasure that mingled in with the dull pain. He knew that Izaya going into him raw probably would have hurt more than it did if was a normal person, but he wasn’t; Izaya knew that and he knew that. As it was, the pain was tolerable, but he would never admit that because what drove him crazy wasn’t the pain but that Izaya had the guts to do it.

Shizuo knew that he can shove Izaya away from him, but the thought of seeing his cocky grin made him clench his jaw instead. He took a few breaths to calm himself down in an effort to keep his anger at bay, even if he knew this did close to nothing to help him rein his anger. Izaya briefly pulled out and went back in an agonizingly long moment before finally picking up his pace. He kept hitting that same spot that caused him pleasure awhile ago, but Shizuo was as stubborn as he was and held back his moans. Izaya bit his shoulder to keep the unnatural sounds that threatened to escape from his mouth.

He vaguely knew that at the rate Izaya was going at it, he would come first before Shizuo did. So he held onto his orgasm for as long as he could, and after Izaya came he also felt his release follow. He tried to roughly push him away, but missed; he dodged but lost his balance and toppled over, causing him to fall on the carpeted floor on his back.

“That was disgusting,” they both said out loud after a while as they both stared at the ceiling from where they laid down.

“You bit me, asshole.”

“On the contrary, Shizu-chan, you’re the one with the used asshole right now,” Izaya shot back. “You broke my arm.”

“Serves you right,” Shizuo retorted. The realization that he had won the game dawned on him as the last cloud of afterglow left him. He started laughing out loud at the thought.

“You _lost,_ ”he stated while emphasizing the last word. “You lost, you goddamn louse.” He could feel Izaya stiffen even if he didn’t see him.

“I lost _this time,_ ” Izaya replied when he regained his senses. “Don’t you remember the third rule? The only time one of us permanently loses is if one of us says explicitly, and face-to-face, the sentence ‘I don’t _ever_ want to play this game again.’”

Shizuo felt his spirit dampen at the implication in Izaya’s words. “So we’re going to be doing this shit again?”

“Yes, you protozoan idiot. Unless you’re now forever scarred by me taking your back door virginity that you want to quit,” Izaya half-sang, and Shizuo could feel annoyance build up within him. He was still unusually calm albeit irritated.

“Damn you. You’ll see next time,” he said as he hoisted himself up from Izaya’s bed and looked for his boxers and pants. He gingerly put them on; he couldn’t wait to get home and wash away Izaya’s scent from himself.

“Really? I wonder about that, you brute.”

“I’m not the one with something to prove anyway. I won’t be the one calling after this, since I’m not the one who _lost._ ”

The last thing he saw before he closed the bedroom door and left the apartment was Izaya’s enraged face. Shizuo considered it as his reward for being fucked by the bastard.

 

 

*.*

It was like Izaya had never left.

Ikebukuro was once again filled with the deafening sound of Shizuo’s roar as he once again chased Izaya in the busy streets of the city. They never did stop the chases even if they always lacked a clear winner between the two of them; they had always been the trigger for the game inside the bedroom, and were both the game’s cause and effect.

“I’m so glad Shizu-chan’s so happy to see me,” Izaya yelled out over to Shizuo as he dodged a fast-flying vending machine turned projectile aimed right at him. Shizuo threw street railings as a retort, and he narrowly avoided them.

Shizuo was not happy to see him at all. He didn’t know how long Izaya was gone. All he knew was that it was long enough for him to be damn _pissed._ Just when he thought that they were finally _through_ playing the stupid game, and just when he finally accepted that maybe it was his way of saying that he was done with it, the bastard waltzed into Ikebukuro like nothing happened. _Like he never left._

And while Shizuo was angry, he didn’t think of why he was angry; sometimes, he wanted nothing more but to _not_ examine his jumbled emotions that were as messy as his memories of the whole _thing._ He had planned to play it cool the next time he met Izaya, but when the flea finally appeared before him, subdued rage took hold of him instead.

His resentment had not subsided, even after Izaya called him a month after he returned. Shizuo felt nothing but uneasiness and emptiness during his wait for Izaya to call, because ─ _damn that stupid flea ―_ he would _not_ be the first one to ask them to play the game this time.

He didn’t even listen to the little fucker taunt him when Izaya finally made him come to his house; he blocked out all the annoying things the flea spewed out of his mouth. He pushed him down on the bed and concentrated on sucking his shoulders, even then being extra careful about the strength he put in his bites. His teeth can break metal, after all, and no matter how much Izaya steels his outside appearance, he is made of flesh and bones just like Shizuo is, even if Izaya would deny it. A part of him wanted to leave a mark on his neck, but he didn’t; he kept his promises, no matter how unspoken, unlike the flea. They had agreed on not leaving any marks on each other’s skin that would be visible to the outside world.

They also promised that whatever happened between the two of them stayed within the cut-off world of Izaya’s apartment. And while they never promised to keep in touch, they never promised to _not_ keep in touch either. Even though Shizuo knew he had no hold over Izaya, he had hoped that whatever it was this game they were playing would at least make the stupid flea inform him that he was leaving. He knew he was expecting much from someone who didn’t exactly had the best reputation for keeping his word, but - _damn it. Damn it._

He caught a glimpse of Izaya’s face, and the sight of it was too much; it brought back unanswered questions in his mind that he would rather not face. He flipped him so that he was on all fours; and Shizuo fumbled for the lube in the bedside drawer, even if half of his mind wanted to make Izaya pay for making him wait too long; for making him _worry._ Shizuo could afford himself at least that much honesty. He covered his finger with the liquid and inserted it into Izaya, blocking out his hiss because of the coldness of the liquid. He was exceedingly patient that day, in stark contrast to the anger and annoyance he actually felt inside him; he knew that what he needed to do to make Izaya regret not contacting him at all.

A few more minutes and another finger was inserted; then another. Izaya was already squirming under his hold, twisting futilely to change his position so that he would be the one to control the pace. Shizuo would have none of it. He kept Izaya firmly in place as he let his fingers stretch Izaya.

The only thing important to him that moment was Izaya was there with him, and Shizuo could care less about everything else. That was the last thing he thought before he emptied his head and picked up his pace. He left bite marks at the expanse that was Izaya’s back as he kept his rhythm, and one thought crossed his mind as he inhaled all of his smell.

_He will be the death of me._

And when he woke up with Izaya’s back facing him, he couldn’t care less if he was destroyed completely.

*.*

 

 

It was the first time he had fallen asleep at Izaya’s place, and it was the day the unwritten morning truces came to be. He woke up to the sound of honking cars and sunlight streaming into his closed eyes. When blinked them open, he saw an unfamiliar ceiling welcome him to the new day, and he vaguely remembered what happened the night before. He abruptly got up and checked his body for knife nicks and bruises, and was half-surprised to find none. He turned his head in search for the owner of the house. 

Izaya was wrapped in white as he sat down on the window ledge, his legs and shoulders peeking out of the cloth. He was again looking at what Shizuo supposed was the scramble crossing, his eyes fixed on a spot on the ground below. Shizuo blinked once, and he stared again. He could only describe Izaya at that moment an apparition that would eventually fade. He rubbed his eyes in an effort to cross the thought off his head.

“I wish you would just never wake up, Shizu-chan,” Izaya muttered sourly even as he kept his eyes on the street outside.

“Not in the mood for your bullshit so early in the morning,” Shizuo answered as he tucked himself in the sheets again, more to shield himself from the increasing ridiculousness of the situation than anything else. If waking up in the bed of a not friend wasn’t weird, then waking up with no injuries was even weirder. “You could have just killed me when I was sleeping.”

“You’re just grumpy because you lost. And killing you while you’re sleeping wouldn’t be half as fun.”

“You barely won.”

“Four is to three. Shizu-chan, numbers don’t lie.”

“The last one was a close fight,” Shizuo griped. He nestled himself further in the bed, even if his instincts still urged him to get out of Izaya’s room. But the room was warm, and more than anything, he was satisfied. He felt satisfied with his position in the bed; with the cool high-altitude Tokyo air that filled his lungs; with the sun touching his skin.

“A win is a win,” Izaya said, his head resting on his folded knee as he continued to look outside. Somewhere in his head, Shizuo thought there was something wrong with the whole setup. The casualness of the situation they were in was anything but ordinary, since their definition of ordinary was unusual. Granted, the whole game was fucked up, but even for them there was some degree of normality that they adhered to. Izaya shifted his position a little, and the white sheet slid down a little lower, revealing his right thigh and arm.

“One day, I might stop playing along, y’know,” Shizuo started as he stared at the newly visible purple patches blooming on Izaya’s skin; his handprints from their activity the previous night. “Forget to control myself. Or you might not be able to dodge next time─”

Izaya turned his head towards Shizuo with his trademark smirk, and scoffed. “You speak as if I care. As if _you_ care.”

Shizuo snorted in derision, and Izaya laughed softly; its sound still tinged with it usual insanity. Izaya’s laughter always sent Shizuo into a rage, but at that moment it sounded muted, and he found that he didn’t mind; didn’t mind at all. “Never going to happen,” he quipped, and Izaya hummed in agreement.

“Besides, you wouldn’t,” Izaya continued and faced him. Shizuo was a little slow on the uptake; momentarily blinded by the sudden bright ray of sunlight that seeped through the window the moment Izaya changed his position. The sun shone directly behind him, and it cast upon his pale skin.

“How can you be sure?”

“You’re too caught up in pretending to be human. It’s revolting.”

“You’re disgusting too,” he replied as his eyes had finally adjusted to the sunlight. Only then did he see Izaya staring at him intently. His face held a seriousness Shizuo had never seen before, and he was suddenly at a loss for words.

Izaya held his gaze, eyes boring holes into Shizuo’s, and he couldn’t help but stare back. Izaya’s eyes were like whirlpools of blood, sucking him in. Shizuo couldn’t look away. He didn’t want to.

The moment passed just as quickly as it came, and it forever stayed only in that second.

 

 

*.*

To describe Izaya as beautiful is both an understatement and overstatement.

Shizuo realized that one night, when they were together. He couldn’t remember when he started thinking about fucking as being together, but when he thought of their bodies twisting and contorting to fit each other, ‘together’ was the only word he could think of. Maybe it was because the interval between their games had dwindled further; maybe it was something else. He found himself unsure of a lot of things of late.

He was inside Izaya while they faced each other. Izaya was on his lap, and his arms were looped around the back of his neck. Shizuo held the small of his lover’s back lightly, tracing circles on his smooth skin. He was leaning on his shoulder, and Shizuo could feel him trembling; he could hear his breath hitching, and he was suddenly all too aware of how warm the skin touching his fingertips was. He could feel Izaya’s skin reddening with their every movement; his hair damp with sweat as his skin glistened. Izaya lifted his head up, and they stared at each other.

And Shizuo wondered even through his foggy mind why people called Izaya beautiful. His face was marred by the eye bags under his eyes. His right ear was lower than his left and his grin lopsided and never quite reached his eyes.

But Izaya was lightning in the middle of grey skies; a whirlwind dancing its way through chaos. He was an airplane waiting to crash, a car over speeding, a boat about to capsize. He was everything instinct alerted against, and that was beauty that only chaos could bring. Izaya was as dangerous to others as he was to himself; ready to break everything apart, including his self. 

Izaya is devastating. No other word could do him such justice.

Shizuo felt Izaya shudder as he broke eye contact with him, and he knew Izaya was close. Izaya once again bowed down his head; and it took a while for Shizuo to realize that Izaya was laughing.

“This position doesn’t fit us,” he breathed out in between quiet laughs. Shizuo couldn’t agree any less. He lifted Izaya’s chin slowly. He felt a flutter in his chest, and he closed his eyes. He leaned in closer. He felt Izaya’s eyelashes flutter on his closed eyelids; felt his heart quicken. He was hovering close, too close, now, and his lips felt Izaya’s soft lips and lingered briefly, quickly. He pulled away unwillingly when he felt his heart might burst at the innocence of the act.

Izaya came hard on his chest; mouth gaping and eyes wide in shock. Shizuo vaguely wondered whether that was how he looked when Izaya first licked his neck and followed after.

“If that was all it took for you to come that hard, I should have done it sooner. Wasted ten years before I tried it out,” he half-joked.

Izaya stilled in his arms, and at once, Shizuo knew he made a mistake.

He waved his hand in front of Izaya’s eyes. “Izaya?”

Izaya’s eyes slowly unclouded, and suddenly he jumped away from Shizuo.

“Get out.”

“Wait─”

“Get out,” Izaya repeated, his voice ice-cold. “Now.”

Shizuo found himself shoved to the front door as he dressed himself. Izaya looked livid, and it was the first time he ever saw that expression on the other’s face. Shizuo didn’t know what to do; didn’t know what to say; he didn’t know why he had done it anyway. He had wanted to do it, but not at that moment, but he didn’t know if he would have ever done it if he hadn’t at that moment―

“Don’t come back here anymore. I don’t _ever_ want to play this game again,” Izaya said as he turned away, leaving Shizuo in the hallway.


	2. The Beginning of the End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Izaya contemplates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Changed some tags. Wall of text ahead.

He was eyeing each action faithfully. Izaya noted even the littlest pauses whenever Shizuo prepared to leave his house. The fight never really ended even when the game ended. Every show of weakness, no matter momentary, was a weapon to be used.

This time was no different. He watched as Shizuo pulled his sleeves to his shoulders as he dressed himself. Shizuo took his time. Izaya surmised that it was because Shizuo's instincts told him he was being watched. Izaya didn't particularly care about him being aware. Izaya felt nothing, nothing at all, and at this point he couldn't care less.

"Do you know why houses were created?" he asked, and as he expected, Shizuo didn't even glance; He only continued buttoning up his dress shirt. "It's advancement from a time when humans used to live in caves," he answered the question himself, in a tone that he made sure grated on the ears of anyone who heard it. "Do you still live in a cave? You're so primitive."

Izaya gleefully noticed Shizuo stop buttoning his shirt midway; knew he was getting a reaction. "Scientists say they lived in caves to protect ourselves from predators. Humans used to live in a commune, after all. But why did they need to further divide themselves?" he continued. He could think of a million reasons to counter his own argument. He knew thus that he was speaking inane drivel, but that didn't matter. All he needed to do was talk to rile up the creature occupying the end of his bed anyway.

He paused for dramatic effect; studied the strewn sheets on the bed where he lay. He was calculating the losses he was about to incur, for it was only a matter of time before Shizuo reacted. He could afford another bed, he decided.

He shrugged. To anyone else, the languid, casual gesture of his shrugging, the way he made sure to deliberately emphasize the action of his shoulders, came natural to him. Every movement, every word, everything was practiced, calculated, perfected through time and time alone. He let a smile settle on his lips; a show of teeth more than anything else.

"Why build more walls?" he asked as his eyes flitted over to the walls of his apartment. He was thinking of where Shizuo would make a hole this time and was betting with himself. What would he throw this time? Will he hit the wall opposite to him or adjacent to him? Izaya kept asking himself questions even as he continued to speak. He took a quiet but deep breath in anticipation.

"It's because people can't stand other people," he said, just as Shizuo started holding the bedpost closest to his right. Izaya was a bit annoyed since he guessed wrong, but he went on, his face or voice not once giving the fact away. "They pretend they can, but in the end, they just ruin each other. Aren't they lucky to have me? Someone who _loves_ them unconditionally." At this point he zoned out, not really thinking about what he as saying. He had already thought about the stream of thoughts currently spewing out of his mouth; there was nothing more he could gain from it. He was more interested at Shizuo's movement, the ungraceful manner in which he carried himself. He only needed to say a few more words―

He was now talking about himself being god. The words felt like lead as they left his mouth. But the feeling was nothing new; he was already used to the sinking feeling he always felt whenever he asserted such a thing. He had done this more than he could count; the words he said were as empty and as tired as how he felt. But they did have their intended effect on others, and no matter how weary Izaya had grown by speaking such things, he would always be grateful he still managed to fool everyone else. 

If only he could fool himself, he thought, just as Shizuo finally lost his temper and threw the bedpost. It whizzed right beside his head as he seemingly effortlessly dodged it; his instincts doing the thinking for him. He watched as the beast stomped his way through the hallway out of the door, leaving behind a trail of broken things; leaving him alone, like Izaya knew he would.

*.*

 

Rain pelted on his window in Shinjuku. He was just about to leave when the rain started pouring. Izaya settled on watching people hurry along the streets on the ground below instead. 

Watching people comforted him. He liked observing them go on with their lives, absorbed in what occupied their thoughts. As he stared, a memory came to him. It happened some time ago, when the sun had not yet risen; when the morning breeze gently nudged him awake -

He would rather not remember. He shook his head to shove it at the back of his mind, even if he knew how futile that was. He had tried, time and time again, to control his thoughts, just as he controlled his body. But the mind worked differently. The effort he put in to deny, repress, and change what he thought of only served to further imprint the very memories he had tried to suppress.

What happened in that memory was a turning point, and what he blamed for whatever limbo he was currently in. He continued staring instead, watching the colorful umbrellas that shielded people from the rain. It made his glass window foggy, causing the colors to blur into one another. Whenever he squinted, he could only see a mass of indiscernible hues.

He turned his back to the window. There was no point in watching people when he couldn't even see them. He resigned himself to an afternoon of nothing but his thoughts; the very thing he wanted to avoid. His thoughts kept coming back to that night, when lips descended onto his.

He gritted his teeth in annoyance. He knew he might have overreacted; might have done something out of the ordinary. He knew all that and more, and yet at that time, during the moment, he didn't think. He had let his instinct take over, something he had rarely, if ever, done outside of battle or for something as irrational as _that._ He was at a loss. He had always been lost, but the incident had caused a different kind of wandering, to a place in his head he would rather not go to.

He breathed in and tried to rationalize. What he had done was natural. They were two strangers who had been in close proximity for far too long, with tension riding high between them. It was thus logical for him to get attached, even if it were highly unlikely. And if that were the case, then it was only reasonable for him to have acted that way. 

It was just a case of the chemicals in his brain getting things mixed up. Anger mingled with lust; intertwined with curiosity; coupled with need. A cocktail of meaningless things he would rather live without. What was the point anyway? He didn't need them. The rain poured down harder, as if to voice out its dissent. He turned around into his apartment to silence the sound.

 

*.*

Izaya's house was a wreck, but he was amused. The creature that caused the mess - broken door, crushed doorknob, cracked walls to name a few - was struggling with a glass jar of jam. Shizuo might have gotten hungry and decided to raid his refrigerator without consent. Izaya didn't care. After all, wasn't it all a proof of how much a beast Shizuo was? Also, if it kept his source of entertainment for a couple more minutes, then he didn't mind.

Shizuo caught a glimpse of him and paused, his face conflicted. He took a while before he spoke again, looking defeated. "Mind if I...?" his voice trailed off as he held the bottle tentatively in an effort to show him. 

Izaya was taken aback, but maintained his composure. "Why do you ask? It's not like you care," he taunted, his lips curving into an eerie ghost of a smile. He made sure that there was a condescending undertone in his voice, and if the anger draining away the embarrassment on Shizuo's face was any indication, then Izaya was doing a great job.

Shizuo whipped his head away and focused on opening the bottle, but struggled.

"Having a hard time, protozoan?" 

His small jest turned out to be Shizuo's downfall - he reflexively tightened his grip around the bottle, crushing the glass into smithereens. Blood mixed with the red color of the jam, and small glass shards peppered his hand.

Izaya started laughing his head off. How stupid could this beast be, he thought, as Shizuo let out a groan of annoyance. Izaya couldn't stop laughing even as he fell to the floor. He could feel the anger emanating from Shizuo, but he didn't care. It was all too funny for him, even if he really couldn't explain why.

It was probably the image of the beast doing and failing at mundane things, he thought. The mighty, indestructible Shizuo, stumped by a glass jar. It was so illogical he couldn't stop himself from howling with laughter.

"Poor Shizu-chan," he jeered. "I'm sorry if my house is too _sophisticated_ for you," Izaya continued as Shizuo picked up the broken pieces. It was obvious Shizuo was annoyed - he was almost always annoyed whenever he was at Izaya's - but he still prodded him.

"Don't worry, I'll make sure to make my house more - " he paused as Shizuo started to stir " - _beast-friendly._ I'm so  _sorry_ I didn't do that in the first place." 

"Fuck off," he barked, as he stomped on the glass shards, further crushing them.

Shizuo stormed out of the room; slammed the door like he always did - the punchline to every accidental joke he had done in Izaya's presence. "Come again!" he shouted mockingly.

He knew he was being petty, as much as he loathed to admit it. But the temptation was too hard to resist. He would make his house as - he searched for the proper word in his head -  _accommodating_ to Shizuo as he could to highlight how far people need to go to adjust to Shizuo's presence. He would make sure that Shizuo would forever know that he just isn't normal.

By then Izaya knew, that despite of everything he was making Shizuo go through, he would still come back. Shizuo was self-righteous whenever it involved Izaya doing something he did wrong. All Izaya had to do was push the right buttons. He rested, content with the knowledge that his plaything would return. 

*.*

 

Izaya found himself visiting his Shibuya apartment more and more. He was again there, navigating through the rooms in a daze. 

He never was the type to get attached to things. He had his apartment ever since high school; the first thing he ever obtained using his abilities back in high school. It was an easy bribe from a rich businessman in exchange for Izaya's silence. He partly kept his promise; he swore to not speak after his plans were already set in motion, and when the man realized, it was already too late for him. Izaya shrugged all thoughts of the past away as the living room beckoned him to come over.

He always found himself staring at his walls. His apartment had definitely seen better days, he thought, as he ran his fingers through the cracks on the surface and walked from his kitchen to his living room. There were holes that had been filled up by cement, and no amount of paint could ever hide the scars it left on the façade.

In the beginning, the apartment was a respite for him. It was a small, inconspicuous place, cradled in the middle of the city yet nowhere at the same time. The building itself was stuck on the edge of a residential area and a bustling commercial district, but was surreptitiously tucked away in a nondescript area, kept that way to protect the well-off clientele that were never there. The building deteriorated after years of neglect, and the people it had once struggled to protect got up and went. Izaya found it amusing. He remembered the first time he stepped into the apartment. It was arranged in a manner that was devoid of any personal touch; it fit him well.

His attention turned to a few holes still on wall dividing his bedroom and living room, gaping at him like open doors to a distant, foreign time. He turned his head away as he settled down on one end of his couch. He stared up the ceiling as he curled into himself. I really should have had those fixed, he thought wryly. His eyes found their way to the holes again; the cracks on the walls. He felt the couch bristle beneath him, privy to memories embedded on its expanse.

He stood up, went further into his house, into the bedroom. The only thing that made noise aside from his quiet breathing was the clock. _Tick tock, tick tock,_ his mind repeated as he continued his staring contest with the walls, tracing the outline of the holes, the cracks, the _window_ ―

Before he knew it, he was already leaving; running away from the shrinking walls that threatened to consume him.

 

*.*

He kept running. He was only ever free when he ran. His mind was free of thoughts every time the wind hit his face. He lived for the little moments when he saw the sky flash before his eyes as he jumped through rooftops. He was free from the things his mind won't let him go of. 

Izaya breezed through the sidewalk, the corners, the alleyways. He had memorized the innards of the city when he was fourteen. Now that he was in his third year in senior high, zipping through it was easy. 

Shizuo was chasing him. By now, Izaya thought that Shizuo would have already been bored or would have already gotten tired and started ignoring him. But it would eventually happen. He was sure. This was how things went. But for now, someone was chasing after him, giving him a reason to run. So he kept running.

It was easy.

He skidded to an alley and his back hit the wall. He gunned for a ladder to escape to the rooftop, but Shizuo had already blocked his route. He underestimated him. Shizuo quickly moved in on him, closing their distance. Izaya attempted to raise his arms to block him off, but he already grabbed his arms and cut off any possible means of movement for Izaya.

He was stuck. He mentally told himself to never get caught again. Shizuo held him tightly. It annoyed him. Why was he stopping him from running? Didn't he know that this was his only escape?

Of course he didn't, he thought. Even Izaya wasn't sure what he was really running from.

An idea danced in his head at that moment. It was something that should merit further thought, further inquiry. But he didn't want to go back to the quagmire that was his mind yet. Recklessness took a hold over him. He inched closer to Shizuo and took a swipe at his neck with his tongue.

Shizuo stood dumbfounded and loosened his grip. Izaya took the chance to wriggle away. He found himself stopping in his tracks, laughter escaping his chest. He did not expect such a reaction. 

Another idea formed in his head as he took a step back just as Shizuo swung his fist. 

"Want to play a game, Shizu-chan?"

"No fucking way," he replied. Izaya kicked his groin just to watch his reaction. Shizuo might have said something in reply, but he didn't listen. Izaya fumbled for his knife and plunged it in Shizuo's neck. It was useless, of course, but he needed to try anyway. 

He had already jumped and started running when Shizuo reacted. He spat out in the alley before he ran away from the scene. He hated the taste on his mouth.But he found the whole situation entertaining. 

He needed to be preoccupied. The thought was disgusting him, but he couldn't stave off the curiosity budding in his chest. Shizuo was everything he abhorred; everything he could't be; the perfect distraction. 

*.*

 

"Have you taken care of it?" he asked Namie, his attention not once leaving the monitor where he was finalizing a document. There were bags under his eyes, and his brows were creased in concentration as he troied to process the data he accumulated to procure for his client. He was to use it in conjunction to the data he and his underlings gathered. His vision was starting to become blurry even with his glasses on. He paused, took off his glasses, and rubbed his temple.

Namie slammed a stack of papers on his table. He raised his head and gave her his most deceiving smirk. She stared only for a moment, turned around, and went back to her table. He wiped the lenses of his glasses and let out a small, inaudible sigh.

She sneered as soon as she sat back in her chair. "You're getting old."

"Then you must be an old hag by now," he retorted indifferently as he once again put on his glasses and resumed typing.

Namie scrunched up her nose in annoyance. "If you were talking about the apartment you wanted me to put in the market, then yes. I've already contacted a real estate broker about it. Contract is on top."

Izaya stopped typing when he heard her answer. "Great," he replied a little too late, with a too tired voice. Namie looked at him curiously, her stare grating on his nerves because she wasn't even supposed to be able to tell.

After a short silence, she scoffed. "The broker said no one would buy a place like that, even with the low price you made him sell it. He says that it's beyond repair, and it's a wonder why the place hasn't fallen apart yet."

He stiffened in his seat ever so slightly, but offered her a sickeningly sweet smile as he said, "You actually _talked_ to the broker? It's good you're starting to look for other options. Did you finally figure out your brother won't ever look at you the same way?"

Namie scowled and glared at him in reply and he found himself chuckling darkly at her obvious disdain. For a moment, he felt a little like himself again. "Bring me coffee," he told her as he began to spin around his office chair. He saw her leave for the kitchen seething at his question, even if she knew that the topic was an open wound Izaya would forever take advantage of. He knew he had used her brother against her for far too many times now, but he didn't care. It was efficient, reliable, and effective; an almost sure way to get on her nerves. He wouldn't let go of something so certain, no matter how trite it was.

He mulled the thought as he spun around, the unmarred walls blurring as he went round and round in his chair. He stopped right when he began to wonder why his walls were too whole and why his apartment was too large just as Namie put down a tray on his table. She went back to her seat immediately after setting it down.

Izaya stared at the cup of hot water, instant coffee, creamer, and sugar in front of him for a minute. He raised his head and turned to Namie's direction. Her lips were pursed and her eyes flashed defensively, as if daring him to ask why she didn't bother to properly prepare his coffee. He couldn't care less, not at that moment; turned his attention instead on the sugar inside the glass jar that had a twistable lid.

"Why didn't you put the sugar in the plastic container?" he asked before he could stop himself, and her eyebrow raised in question. He paused before he put on a smile that was only slightly noticeably strained. Namie stared at him searchingly, as if trying to figure out the reason for his odd behavior.

In the end, she just rolled her eyes and resumed working. When she was no longer looking, Izaya glared at the jar as if it had offended him.

 

 

*.*

It was on the verge of sunrise when the cool morning wind urged his heavy eyes to open. Izaya blinked once, twice; listened to the quiet of his mind. It was the first night in a long time that he had slept without waking up feeling exhausted. For once, his thoughts were blissfully empty.

He shifted his position and felt the weight of another body beside him. He turned around and stared at the sleeping figure beside him. Shizuo was facing him, his face relaxed; his mouth slightly open. Izaya traced the contours of his face with his eyes, silently memorizing its features. He was mesmerized for a moment, and when he came to, he caught his hand near touching Shizuo's cheek.

He was momentarily frozen in place. He settled to pinch it as hard as he could instead, lifting the skin as high as he could. Izaya let go just as Shizuo stirred, but only to turn and lie flat on his back. He laughed soundlessly, thoroughly amused while Shizuo just kept sleeping.

He continued contorting Shizuo's face, molding it into different expressions. He turned it into a face of disgust, anger; pulled his hair to make horns, spikes. Izaya briefly wondered how he could stay asleep even though he made sure that he tugged Shizuo's skin and hair as hard as he could. He blamed it on his physiology; his body was almost indestructible. His mind wandered only for a moment, but when his attention snapped back to reality, he found himself merely running his hand through Shizuo's hair.

He quickly pulled his hand away and sat up. He looked at Shizuo sleeping defenselessly beside him again, and he entertained the thought of slitting his throat then and there. He grabbed a knife from his bedside drawer and positioned it in the air above Shizuo's neck; took a deep breath before he plunged the knife as deep as he could in his jugular―

He stopped midway, just as the first ray of sunlight hits the blade of his knife. He anticipated Shizuo to wake up and snarl at him, but he didn't. Izaya sighed as he put down the knife and examined it instead. The knife was an artifact of the past, the knife he had used back in his high school days, fossilized in his drawer. It was the same knife he used to etch his mark on Shizuo's chest; the same knife that fell to the ground the first time he sent his tongue to abseil on Shizuo's neck.

He tore his eyes away from the knife; away from the body sleeping on his bed that kept drawing them in, and turned to the window. Izaya stood up from the bed, one of his white sheets wrapped around him. The knife unceremoniously fell to the floor and was lost underneath the bed frame, forgotten.

He sat on the ledge of his window and stared at the bustling intersection below. He absorbed the sea of people that washed over the pedestrian crossing in tides. "Hey Shizu-chan," he whispered. Izaya listened to the quiet rising and falling of Shizuo's breaths. "Do you know what gods yearn for?"

There was no response. "But," he began. He took another peek at the wave of people below and a slight, melancholic smile appeared on his lips. The gentle breeze blew into his open window as if in agreement. The sea of people in Shibuya crossing never changed. He had been watching them ever since he could remember. "We both don't belong there, do we?" he continued dryly. The mockery of intimacy he was doing with the person he called his worst enemy did not escape him.

His face fell, and it went away as soon as it came; fleeting, as if the wind blew it away. He curled into himself, his expression now unseen as he rested his face on his crossed arms. He again listened to the quiet of his mind; the silence of thoughts that often eluded him. Izaya took a sidelong glance at the sleeping figure on his bed. He quickly turned his head away as he faced the horizon to greet the morning sun.

"I wish you would just never wake up, Shizu-chan."

*.*

 

Maybe there really was just something wrong with him. A girl was pouring her heart out in front of him, taking a part of herself and giving it to him. He would be as callous as he had always been; give her sickly sweet smile as he listened to everything wrong about her.

He didn't take particular joy in seeing people at their weakest. Izaya looked to the wall as she talked. Why bother struggling if by the end of it all, nothing will change? The girl tried too hard. He could make her change her mind and give up then and there. He had already calculated it.

Izaya hated the empathy he felt. He had seen types like her before. They clung to others when they struggled, hoping that someone, anyone, would help them, even if they didn't exist. These were Izaya's favorite type of specimen after all, the ones he liked to observe the most. But each and every time, all he felt was sadness at their situation and their inability to see that they, and they alone, can change their situation.

He had made it a game. It started with the favors back in school. He would push the person to confront their worries. The best outcome would be for the person to realize that they need to get a hold of themselves. It had become something greater, it always did, with every human he came across to observe.

The first time someone hated him, he felt taken aback. This was just a game after all. But he realized that their hatred made them continue, and if that would help them then he'd be willing. The first time one of them killed someone, he had become ridden with guilt for days to no end. Now he had lost count, but the guilt remained and it was something he would carry.

But he can't stop. He had lost the right years ago, and somewhere along the way, he lost the reason to try anyway. Nobody wanted him, nor needed him, he had made sure of that. But when the gnawing in his chest became too much, and the burden of existence becomes unbearable, he always distracted himself with someone-

At least he used to.

Not anymore.

Maybe he was getting too old for this, he thought, as he excused himself. The girl was confused, of course, but he would have another day to deal with her. For now, all he wanted was to be alone, even if it was already a perpetual state of being for him. It was right for him to have overreacted that _one_ time, he concluded. In loneliness, he would just think of himself as a god. He had decided a long time ago that this was what he was going to do. The shadows enveloped him as he exited the alley, slinking back all the way home; alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M MOVING OOOOONNNNNN omg *ugly cryyYYyyying
> 
> Do you guys know any website where I can further study English? I'm still struggling with it, to be honest. lol sorry  
>    
> btw the soundtrack of the whole story is the Glitterbug album.


End file.
